


Useful

by NervousOtaku



Series: Writer's Block Short Stories And Plot Bunny Dump [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Autobiography, Rant, based on real life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 09:57:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21492445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousOtaku/pseuds/NervousOtaku
Summary: A fight between a BSA and a Fine Arts student.Based on and inspired by real events
Series: Writer's Block Short Stories And Plot Bunny Dump [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472354
Kudos: 3





	Useful

“No, but honestly,” Gretchen said, putting her paintbrush down, “Why are you here? You don't have a real major, you're just bumming around the building and mooching off all the studios.”

Scot paused before finishing the stitch and carefully tucking his needle in the floss. “Gee, I dunno,” he challenged, taking his boots off the table and sitting up, “Why are you here, Gretchen?”

The studio was quiet as Gretchen rolled her eyes, rearranging her paints. “To learn, obviously. I want to get better at my craft and become a master.”

Scot nodded, putting the book he was binding down. “And that craft is what? Painting?”

The senior student snorted, throwing her arms wide to gesture to the canvas spread out before her. The painting in question was coming along rather nicely, though fuck if Scot knew what kind of paint or technique she was using. He'd been dodging the required painting classes for a while now.

Nodding more, Scot asked, “And why should I care?”

“Because clearly I'm gonna get hired and you're not,” Gretchen replied easily, “I've been focused on painting since I got here and am already getting really good at it. Meanwhile you've just been dicking around with no focus on anything. That means you're no good at anything. You're going to be working fast food until the day you die.”

The other students in the studio exchanged looks, some of them shuffling anxiously. Scot understood. Everyone knew who Gretchen was. Everyone knew her work when teachers hung it up, and everyone knew her in general. Gretchen was A Name around the art building, while Scot was a nobody.

“You know,” Scot said, gathering up his loose papers and sorting them, “Bookbinding is a really lucrative business. And you don't even need to be a master in it to be a hireable talent, you just need to know how to make fifty-plus pieces of paper stay together.”

Gretchen didn't answer, looking confused.

“The simple fact that I know how to turn my old jeans, the weeds in my mom's garden, and tax forms into paper means I'm already good in the industry. Who do you think makes the paper you guys buy so much of? And the fact that I then know stab-binding and lay-flat binding? Plus my experience in printmaking and screenprinting? Hell, I am a self-publisher! If I write a book, I don't need to pay anyone to make it for me, I don't need to go to a big-name company, I can open up my garage-studio at home and crank out fifty copies!” Scot declared, picking up the in-progress book before slapping it back down.

“Okay, but no one reads books any more! We all use our phones!” Gretchen argued, pulling here out in demonstration. A few bystanders nodded in agreement.

“No one goes to art museums any more, it's all online, so why are you painting?” Scot fired back, earning a collective gasp from the rest of the room. “Papermaking and bookbinding isn't all I'm good for. As stated, I can also make hand-prints— meaning I can make shirts, or posters, or collectibles. I learned how to make pins and buttons in screenprinting, and just look at what's on your backpack! On my hat! On lanyards and vests and bags around this whole campus!”

Kicking his feet up and leaning back again, Scot began folding some of his paper in half, carefully creasing the sheets and sliding them together into signatures. He waited patiently for Gretchen's rebuttal, picking out what papers would make a decent cover. He was in the middle of making one book, yeah, but he needed at least five to show the teacher by Wednesday next week.

He watched as the senior student bristled. All but flipping the table she was at, Gretchen yelled, “That doesn't change that all you're doing is dicking around while the rest of us are taking this seriously!”

A few people collected their things and hurried out of the room. Scot couldn't be sure, but he thought at least one person was recording the fight on their phone.

“Just because I'm a BSA instead of a Fine Arts, focus on what-the-fuck-ever,” he growled, “Doesn't mean I'm not taking this seriously. No, I'm fucking stringing these classes together— Drawing? That'll come in handy for printmaking! Need paper for that? Well, I can incorporate the kind of paper I make into the print itself! Need covers for books? Well, weaving can create interesting textured fabrics that look great when sewn down! Need to know merchandising? Screenprinting spends half a semester dedicated to making and trading merch! Need to know contemporary art and how it interacts with the world around us? Good thing I'm taking Issues In Contemporary Drawing this semester!”

Gretchen opened her mouth to reply, but Scot didn't let her, jumping up from his seat.

“But clearly the fact that I put so much thought and effort into plotting out my career path, making sure I have a million and two marketing points, doesn't mean shit if I'm not a Fine Arts bitch!” he barked, grabbing his things and pushing them into his bag. “And if I'm going to be personally attacked by a community that preaches safety and friendship, a place to share ideas and creativity, maybe I should change my major to English and get my degree in fiction!”

With that, Scot stormed out, taking care to slam the studio door behind him. He was being the bigger person in ending the argument before it got physical, walking away before it went further. That didn't mean he had to be mature about it.


End file.
